Women of Hogawarts
by moredusk331
Summary: Not Slash, you pervs...an exploration of Hogwarts Women


Anastacia No-Lie  
  
By: Brittany Allen, age 12 Completed October 25, 2002  
  
Chapter 1  
  
I stared anxiously out the window at the fields rushing by, as my mother gaily whistled along with the radio to sever the awful silence that hung like an ugly drapery over the car. She paused every now and then to say something like "can you imagine, me driving myself to my own wedding? Honestly." Or "Pity your father couldn't make it. He must have lost the invitation." I shut my ears. I could only listen to my mothers foolish lying for a while before I got sick. I wasn't thinking at all. Not about the awful frilly, low cut dress I'd have to wear that looked like something April Motherbea would wear, except I didn't have a bust to portray. I didn't think about Wiley Freebough, who was probably at the movies alone-or worse yet- wrapped around the arms of Shelly Canvas. I didn't even think about the wedding to the awful, awful man, or even about the shame of having my mother meet him from "The Personal Plus" section of the Washington post. I thought about nothing, except vaguely how glad I was that I had taken the day-long course on how to clear my mind at Yoga Camp. I didn't even think-not even a flitting thought- about how my life was going to be ruined. But then it faded into memories. Memories of Dad, the scarred man. He wasn't a great dad like other dads- but he was memorable. I did love him. I remembered all the times he'd hit me, for doing something wrong, and thinking after the remorse that I had deserved it, really. I remembered all his crazy ideas- like making a flotilla of beach toys on the back of the speedboat at the lake house, or buying me sweatshirts from all the Ivy League schools so I could go around school and tell them my older brother was a genius. And how frustrated he got when they didn't work. And then I remembered my mother: always scraping for money, even when we didn't need it. And so absorbed in the paper! I had been too blind to see she was looking for another man. Well, apparently, she'd found it in Jojo Sr. Maxerson. Jojo was a trucker, part time rock musician, and very young. He couldn't have been more then 32, while my mother loomed over him at an awful 43. I had begun to notice it after a while: my mother had started dressing like a prostitute and she forgot all about money- she emphasized spending it. She bought all the age- receding cosmetics ever, and stole my tapes of "Everclear" and Blink 182. But the sickest part was imagining my mother and that pierced, tattooed, freak making love in my house, or anywhere else. And now, they were getting married. After mom left dad, separated, he never remarried. He pursued painting, his theme: agony. His pictures centered around the eternal message: She left me. I'll always love her. I'd forgive her if she came back. I wish she'd come back. I even remember buying a few of his paintings to hang in my room after a while, but she burned them. When I talked to him over the phone, I didn't tell my dad this. I always wished I was with my dad instead of my mom. I had never really loved my mother, she'd been way too zoned out of my life and way too zoned in on her own. She was selfish, it was a fact. And my dad needed me. He was living in the Bronx, and always congested over the phone. He set up booths in the street for his paintings, but nobody would buy paintings in the Bronx. It was awful. And because of it, I couldn't even visit him until he got his act together, which he probably wouldn't. My mother continued to chatter, and I gave in to memories. They got terrible after eighth grade. Finding mom sneaking out the window one night, was one. I heard her scream, and then a thud. I ran to the window, shouting "Mom, mom!" but she didn't need my help. A second scream followed: a scream of pleasure. Jojo had caught her, and now they were making out. I didn't do anything. I went back to sleep without giving the thought that my life was falling a part a second chance. There had been a few good things, which had vanished in the last twenty hours. I had been the most popular freshman in school, for twenty-four hours, and even asked out by the world-famous, sweet, great dancer, Wiley Freebough. I would have managed. But that same evening, my mother had abandoned the house, and bought a trailer. A trailer! And now, six hours later, we drifted by. I wondered if Jojo was going to live in the trailer with us. But no matter. I would be halfway across the country by the very beginning of my mothers stupid wedding. I did not have to put up with this. My life lacked stable adults. My mother had graduated from Wellesley and been amazingly smart, but she worried. When I was a toddler, I remembered going to her one day, when I had gotten my hand pricked by a nettle. My mother had been sewing. Nobody had noticed I was crying at all, but just then, my mother pricked herself with a needle. Only a little pinch. But she started to cry. Right in front of me, like I had when I had gotten stung by a nettle. She sat there and wailed until my father came out. He thought it was funny, so he came out and took a picture, even framed it. But it was very, very frightening to me. The figure who I had used to think would fight off dragons for me was afraid of needles. Sewing needles. My mother had altered herself even beyond this. Not only did she now dress like me, but she had become more involved in my life. But not the motherly way, a weird way. She looked at all my yearbooks and circled the boys she thought were cute. And not even in a motherly way! She started letting me cuss around the house, and every time I rented an R or PG-13 movie, she'd plop down with me and comment. Like a teenager. And the worst part- she started listening to Everclear, saying "rock on dude," she died her hair, and hung pictures of Leo Dicaprio on her walls, covered with lipstick smooches. After a while, I started calling her by her first name. She turned in to an annoying, freakish, scary, sister. And that's the way she'd remained, declining from the level of unstable parent to unstable faux teen, in desperate need of attention and a pshychiatrist. I blinked my eyes to stop the tears, wishing I had a family like in "Leave it to Beaver," or the "Blockbuster" commercials. Of course, that would never happen.  
  
We pulled up to the church about twenty minutes early, with a stream of reporters behind us. Jojo had gone from garage-pot-nobody rock star to concert phantom. I had never listened to any of his music, and wouldn't. Everything was arranged the way mom had planned: obscenely and chaoticly. It wasn't really a church, but a big empty rec center room nobody used in the center of a town called Broken Bow in Nebraska that a preacher had adopted. My mother was having no preachers at her wedding, however. Just an old hippie who'd learnt something about religion in his day. The bridesmaids were all hired, all blondes. Their hair was all crimped and made to look frazzled, and they wore almost see-through pleather white dresses, tight and strapless. They each wore a different color go-go boot, and were standing in the exact spot where the disco ball would reflect the colors. Normally, I would have thought that cool, but I was not going to drop any hint that I was on my mom's side. Not after what she'd done to me. A red, Hollywood shag carpet was rolled up the aisle, and the hippie, dressed in hippie clothes in front of a gigantic sequin-y peace sign, stood at the end. The Best Men, Jojo's other band members, were wearing their rockstar clothes, and the balcony above their heads were filled with screaming teenagers who hadn't been invited. Not even the standard guests were there. My mother couldn't even think of any people she wanted to invite, so she invited the mailman, a woman she'd spoken to once in church with three children, and the writer of her favorite column in the Washington Post. They all sat in the front row of the balcony, stiff, rigid and awkward with their blenders and asparagus slicers wrapped in pretty paper and their white or fancy Business suits or dresses. The wall was randomly decorated with fake hippie stuff or disco stuff, even a few scattered Elvis stuff and pictures of Jojo's band. A man on the "altar" played electric guitar, in place of an organ. The cake was purple, and shaped like an upright triangle. I vowed as soon as I saw it that I would never eat it. My mother bustled off to get dressed, and I immediately put on my deep black sunglasses, crossed my hands across my chest, and leaned against the side of the trailer, trying to look cool. I even blew an imaginary huff of smoke from an imaginary cigarette once or twice. Guests ushered into the hall one by one, all dressed like people used to at my old school dances. Painfully I thought of Wiley, with another girl. My Wiley. The one and only boy I had ever felt that I would ever love. A few stragglers went into the wedding hall, and I heard the electric guitar start pumping. My mother hadn't even realized I was gone. Oh, well. With a jolt of joy I realized for the first time my freedom, which I had been unaware of with Dad. I could do whatever I wanted, and my mother wouldn't care. I spun around in a circle, and began to run down the cliff. I could go anywhere. Halfway down, I realized I'd need food and water if I wanted to fend for myself in Nebraska, so I started back up. But, wouldn't somebody find me if I was to go back up? I sat down and hated myself for being so stupid. I sat there for a few hours, and at last, I heard the electric guitar again, and people leaving the church. They were all going to the reception.  
  
Silently, I stole back up the hill, the wind on my back. The mailman, church lady, and newspaper reporter, all of whom had parked their cars at the far end of the lot, clambered into their cars after a short converse, and sped off in the opposite direction of the reception hall. Everyone else clambered onto a big, tye-dye bus. A few of the teenage stragglers made their way towards the center of the town, towards the Greyhound Bus Depot. Greyhound! Genius! I'd follow them. I kept about a hundred yards away from the girls, as not to arouse suspicion. They were all blonde, I realized, and all wearing white, tight, polyester t-shirts without bras, lots of necklaces, and itty bitty shorts with paw prints on them. "So, if Ricky finds out, were dead, kay?" said one of the girls between smacks of gum. "he is sooo not the kind of guy to appreciate music, and hot rock stars." "Don't dis Ricky!" said a deep voiced girl. I moved to the side to get a profile of them all. They were all similar in appearance, and purposely. The first girl, who must have been the model for the rest of them, was pretty. Her hair was swept up in a beautiful French twist, and her eyes were pretty, and deep. The second girl had bushy blonde eyebrows and deep set eyes, that made her look sad or hungry. She had a big red pimple on her chin. The third girl was wearing sunglasses, but it wasn't hard to tell her hair wasn't originally blonde. The very tips of her hair were black, and a faint, but not unpleasant, bleached blonde moustache decorated her upper lip. I imagined them all as cheerleaders, with named like "Marie," "Allison" "Clarissa," and "Stephanie." I imagined them saying "like" every second. I imagined them as penpals with April Motherbea. But I was distracted from my thinking as we neared the bus depot, where the only apparent movement in town was taking place. The girls disappeared into a sea of blondes, and vaguely I wondered why there were no ethnic groups, at all. I sat down at a table in the center of the main hall, scanning around for the girls. After a while, I realized that I was at a Greyhound station, and I didn't need to follow the girls. Why had I in the first place?? A few tables away from me, a mother hugged her daughter and ushered her out to the side entrance. I felt a pang, coming up from my stomach and blowing out of my ears. I was leaving my mother. Sure she was cowardly, and awful, and terrible, but I felt that I had a duty to her. Because, even if she had done a pretty sucky job at it, my mom had always been there for me. Not there to listen, or to care, but she'd been there. She hadn't run off, and now, even when she did, I was here with her. Even if it wasn't her choice or mine. It had to mean something. I looked around for some other scene to encourage me to stay, to get on that Greyhound bus (as soon as I got a ticket, that was) but there was none. Just the echoing voice in my ears: not on her wedding day. Okay, then. Not on her wedding day.  
  
I just went back to the trailer. In my opinion, just staying was enough. I didn't owe her anything. She owed me stuff. Like courtesy. Care. Compassion. I went to the little table I'd dubbed my "desk" and wrote a poem.  
  
I decided to stay, Your lucky I did, Cause you know if I left, You'd be as crushed as a squid.  
  
Yuck. I took out another piece of paper.  
  
Dicrapio's cute, Divinnci's the brains, This messed up fam-ly Is giving me pains.  
  
Then I wrote another one.  
  
Roses are red, Red is this balloon, You are not staying here, On your honeymoon.  
  
I wasn't good at rhyming. Instead, I put all the poems in an envelope, and wrote, in my best handwriting on the envelope.  
  
I apologize ahead of time. I know its rude to do this, and if dad were here, he would spank me. Even though I'm way too old to get spanked. But dad isn't here, is he? I'm not going to say its your fault because I'm a mature teenager and I don't go accusing people for junk, but one thing is your fault: you were never a mother to me and that's why I'm leaving. You cried louder then me when I was a toddler, and you hurt yourself. You were supposed to sing me lullabies and talk to me about my period and boys and laugh with me, like other moms. But you're a coward. If you don't want me, say so. But I guess that doesn't matter because by the time you read this I'll be halfway across the country and you'll be pregnant with a little rockstar boy, and forget all about me.  
  
P.S I'm going to steal some money from you for the Greyhound ticket. I'm sorry.  
  
P.P.S I can't rhyme. I'm sorry.  
  
P.P.S.S If you had loved me, I would have loved you. I swear on the bible.  
  
I read my letter, and didn't like it. Without realizing it, I had finalized my plans to leave. What if I missed it? What if marriage had made my mother more mature? But then I thought about Elvis signs, and sewing needles, and prostitute clothing, and Everclear, and wanting to be a teenager, and marrying a rockstar, and dumping daddy in the Bronx. And I thought, no, she's had her chance. It's just too much. Then I wondered where I would go.  
  
I made dinner, Campbells chicken noodle, with enough for three. I set the table with our Sterling Silver, checkered tablecloth, and cloth napkins. I draped the seats and appliances with white veils. I lit candles, and positioned them in safe candle holders about the small, cramped room. I don't even know why. And then I rode out on my bike to Blockbuster, got Austin Powers and War Games and American Pie 2, and piled them neatly by the TV. Apparently, they were having their honeymoon in the kitchen. I didn't have to wait long.  
  
I could tell in a minute they were drunk. They were laughing hysterically. Jojo may even have been high. I wasn't too worried. They'd never done anything suicidal before, and I was here. The babysitter. "Who the hell are you?" my mother demanded, then broke into giggles. "I'm your daughter, mom." I winced. Worse then usual. "Oh. This is nice," she said, ignoring me as she fingered the white veil. "can I wear it?" I nodded, but she didn't notice anyway. She pulled her sweatshirt up over her head, revealing a braless middle, and pulled the transparent veil around her. "ooh, foxy, baby" said Jojo, advancing. Keep it together, keep it together. "Soup?" I asked. From the floor my mother grunted a giggly yes. She and Jojo sat up quickly and walked sideways towards the little booth. Jojo farted and my mother laughed. I ladled soup into their bowls, mixing in a bit of Dr. Winifred's Sleeping Powder into each bowl, and placed them extravagantly in front of them. "And voila," I said, with a smile. Without being able to help it, I was proud of myself. I had been mature and responsible. The two of them went back to talking stupidly, and though most of the soup was on the floor at the end, they finished. "Movies?" I asked. Mom and Jojo nodded like two year olds. I escorted them to the little camp couch with the bowl of popcorn and portable T.V set upright on the coffee table. I plugged in American Pie 2. They watched it, while I cleaned. When I finished I even perched nonchalantly on a stool just above the couch, half watching the movie, half them. "And now for the wedding night," I said mischeviously, and escorted them to mom's bed, with its new Elvis sheets. "Oh, baby, you shouldn't have." Was that me, she was talking to? Had she complimented me? Maybe I should stay after all. "Baby Jojo," she added, kissing his ear. I left, to the mother's attic. They were sick. They didn't deserve me. But one thing scared me- Jojo. Jojo was drunk a lot, and what happened if one day he did something awful to her? She was my mother, after all. Despite the cowardice. Angrily I went downstairs to rip up the letter. Who was giving me this uncertainty? Why had I turned out so well with this screwy family? Jojo was there, looking conniving. I couldn't tell if he was still drunk. The house was quiet. For a minute, I couldn't hear my mom. But then she gave a loud snore from the back room. I released my breath. Jojo lit a cigarette, offering me a light. I backed away. " I don't understand you, stepdaughter," he said. His voice was deep and low, and scary. I half expected him to pull out a gun or something television-ish like that. "I'm supposed to understand everything about you. How you think, how you act. What boys you like, who your girlfriends are. What skin care products you use." Well, you're not my father, are you? I thought of saying. But I shouldn't upset him. He was still loony, cunning our not. While I'd been thinking he'd crept up behind me. He'd breathed down my neck, placed his hands on my hips. I whirled around. "Get out of here!" I'd cried. "Stop it, Jojo, please- go back to bed!" Jojo was surprised. After all, he was a rock star. What step-daughter wouldn't have been willing to take his cigarette, to put on airs- to lean into him when he touched her? Me that was who. The me who was tired of a broken home. Tired of playing mom. Tired of everything. I wanted to be a millionaires daughter, who bought her everything. I wanted to be the "E" in a "Tigers" cheerleading squad. I wanted a boyfriend named Danny Hassler, the football playing dunce with a dashy smile. I wanted to strut about in mini skirts, singing at school song competitions-and winning. I wanted to live in a 2.8 million dollar house with my own wing- I wanted- Not really. My standards weren't that high. All I really wanted was a loving family, Christmas presents. Reasons to smile. To have a crush on a boy. To go to a school with SAT scores that didn't sit at the very bottom of the planet. To love, and be loved by. It wasn't that much to ask for- Or so I thought.  
  
Chapter 2  
  
I had decided to live with my mother. Or, the court had decided for me. They had caught me running away, of course, and brought the divorce case back to court. Then, Jojo was charged for sexual harassment and given five years- after they'd resubmersed his record from back in the day where he had stolen drugs from a warehouse, dealt, and even blamed someone else for his actions. By the end of the week and by the time my mother's hangover had gone away, Jojo was in prison, and I would be taken away if she did not shape up. And even this piece of luck got me nowhere. Mom cried for three days straight, and I cried for three days straight, and I went to the library and e-mailed Wiley Freebough a couple of times, trying not to sound desperate. That was my only comfort. He wasn't enraptured with April quite yet.  
  
Chapter 3  
  
"Hello," said my mother. "Did you run out of tissues or drama movies?" I asked, sighing. "Neither." "Then why did you come down?" "I wanted to stretch my legs." "You'd never say hello to me if that was all you wanted to do. Do you want me to go to Blockbuster, or should I try to fix the antennae to get better reception on Lifetime again?" She was mad. It was awful of me. But part of me wanted to be taken away. I'd be telling nothing but the truth if I stood in that courtroom, swore on a bible, and asked if I could live somewhere else. A trial period with Dad- I could shape him up, perhaps. "I can't say hello to you then," she tried again "Salutations. I thought we could watch some movies together- the Disney channel came in again-," Here goes with the wanna be a teenager phase. "Or we could rent some, just you and me." "Or we could apply make-up together," I said. "Yeah." "Or we could listen to Everclear together." "Uh-yeah." "And maybe we could prank call them," "I don't know about that!" "And we could get concert tickets for being the 176th prank caller." "What's gotten into you?" "And we'll be invited onstage." "Anastasia." "AND YOU COULD MARRY ONE OF THEM- EXCEPT THEIR ALREADY MARRIED, SO THIS TIME THEY'D BE THE ONES CHEATING INSTEAD OF YOU! AND YOU COULD LEAVE ME IN THE RAIN WITH THE DOOR LOCKED AGAIN WHILE YOU AND HE ARE INSIDE. AND YOU COULD TELL ME TO BUG OFF WHENEVER I ASK YOU A QUESTION- AND YOU COULD TEAR MY LIFE APART LIKE A PIECE OF PAPER, BIT BY BIT- UNTIL ITS COMPLETELY RIPPED TO SHREDS- AND YOU CAN BUY A PAPER SHREDDER, AND WHEN IT STARTS TO REBUILD YOU CAN DO IT AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN-," I stopped for breath. "UNTIL I'M DEAD!" She was really surprised, I could see it. Then she ran upstairs, screaming. No words. Just a long, long Scream.  
  
After that, she stopped being so nice. She was decent, but rarely complimentary. It felt like years in the trailer, though it was really just two weeks while Mom shaped up, or pretended to, for the court. I didn't do anything except sit outside reading "Where the Heart Is," every week. I actually memorized the first part. One day I saw those girls I had seen before, passing the trailer into the road, walking towards the bus stop again. "OmigoshwhatdidRickysaySamantha?" asked the moustache girl, approaching the other two from the West. "He went ballistic. He said I was cheating on him," said Former-Pimply, who had evidently been washing her face. I noticed two other girls approaching from the East, a vivid red head and a platinum blonde. The model girl had her hair out this time, like April used to wear. She was wearing a tanktop with "I Know I'm Pretty, But You Can say So Anyway," in Bazooka font on the front. It was probably from Limited Too or Hot Topic. "Where's your ticket, Samantha?" she asked Pimply. She waved a slip of paper in her face. "Great," said model. "Great," said Pimply. "Great," said moustache. The two other girls came running with those handbag purses on frugal looking chains. "We're here!" said Platinum. Then, they ran off giggling and smacking gum. I set my book down beside the tree and followed them, acting on impulse. "So, Kelly," said Moustache. She left it dangling in the air before adding, "How's work?" "Dumb," replied the model. "and Dumber. I want to be an actress," Kelly struck a dramatic pose. I nearly gagged. "How's school then?" asked moustache, clearly a dimwit beyond reason. "What's it to you, Ashley? Well, its Ok I guess. I've been skipping a lot," she shrugged it off. "Why?" asked Ashley, not taking the hint. "I feel like it," said Kelly. "Where do you go?" "Places, Ok Ashley? Bug off," Ashley was angry, but shrugged it off with applying lip gloss. I pictured a commercial with "Lip gloss fixes everything," written on the bottom, with some girl healing wounds with Lipsmackers ®. Suddenly, as if from out of nowhere, a dull hum overtook my crowd of Stupids. It seemed to circulate everywhere, over the grass, trees. When it was closer, it was easily distinguished as a wail. Much like my mothers. With laughter, laughter and purposelessness. From the North, left, right, South, a band of skateboarders overtook our little crowd. They looked like punks, what with the spiky hair, piercings, and tattoos. The Valley Girls all ominously screamed in evident distaste, as the people surrounded them in a prominent circle, with me on the outside. "Whats up Ash?" said somebody with a creaking voice. "Nothing, loser," said Ashley the Stupid. "Leave us alone," He asked everyone else and received much the same reply. The "leader of the pack," was at the North point of the twisty circle, next to two girls with orange and pink hair and badly done Henna tattoos. I laughed. Real punks didn't have Henna tattoos, they had real ones. "Hi Kelly," he said, shaking lose his hair from his backwards cap and revealing a face with no piercings except for two on his left ear, and spiked brown hair. He was cute. Kelly hung her head, looking around at her friends who were not discreet in their messages of dissaproval. I was surprised. Kelly, the seemingly most provocative and leader-like one of them all, cared what her friends thought. That was why she hadn't told them where she went and wore that stuff. But it was obvious there was vibe between her and PunkMan. "Hi Joel," she said, tossing her hair. "Kelly, we don't talk to freaks who don't take baths," offered Samantha. Kelly ignored her, stepping closer to Joel. "KELLY!" said Ashley. I suddenly realized she was the most powerful. Kelly snapped out of it, to Joel's dismay. "Bye, Joel," she said, turning her head. Joel shook his head and the Noisemakers skated away. Kelly was crying when I next saw her face, and hung back slightly from Ashley and Samantha, quietly talking about him and every so often looking back and shaking her head. "I know what will cheer you up, Kel," said Samantha. I hoped she was going to offer to take her back to Joel. "A coupon for a free day at Mary Dae's Home spa!" Oh, brother! This was like a Lifetime movie. Get the girl before I blow up! Kelly wiped her tears and pretended to be grateful, then left her friends, who no longer felt guilty.  
  
I followed Kelly into an alleyway, where she chucked away the "Free Spa Day," coupon in the dumpster, muttering to herself. She turned into a street a little farther down. I stayed in the alleyway. That spa day coupon would do Mom a lot of good. So, I stood on a garbage plate and leaned into the dumpster to get it, where I, like a klutz, slipped on a banana peel and fell on my butt with a great thump, spa ticket in my hand. Kelly whirled around the corner, where she'd been hiding. "I knew somebody was following me!" she shouted, jumping around with a dangerous looking glass shard in hand. "Why don't we discuss this reasonably, Kelly?" I said, staggering backward as she approached. She paused, then dropped the shard. "I wasn't really going to hurt someone my age," she said, pulling up a brick and sitting down. "How do you know my name?" she said abruptly after a pause. And what was I supposed to say? "Oh, I've been watching you since my mom is in a crisis and I was bored," "I know Joel," I offered, knowing it would later get me into trouble. "Joel," she said dreamily, not noticing the nervousness in my voice as I pulled off the lie. "Joel," she said again. "You really like him, Kelly," I said. "Don't you?" "Like him? No, I love him. Since kindergarten." She pulled a wallet out of her back pocket. "See?" she said, showing me pictures of his and her head scanned into a wedding photo, 9 school pictures, second grade to tenth, and a hand drawn picture of her and him embracing in a boat on the River Sein. Whoa- I'd never met anyone that lovesick, except for April Motherbea. But that was love from veangeance, this was love from the heart.  
  
"So who are you anyhow?" Kelly asked me, back at her house an hour later over iced tea. "I'm.I'm," I didn't know who I was. The metaphor of me with a lost identity almost made me laugh. I'd lied enough for one day. "Anastacia Greene," I said. "Anastacia Greene." She repeated softly. Then she extended her hand across the table. "Glad to meet you. So- where do you go to school?" I hadn't thought about school really in a long time- at least, beyond the extent of dreams about Wiley Freebough. "We just moved here- I don't go to school yet," we had been there for nearly a month. "Maybe you'll go to Friendland." I started cracking up and choked on my ice cream. Kelly came over to give me a fervent pat on the back. "Are you alright? Are you okay?" she asked, worried. "It's just the name- Friendland-," I coughed. "Everyone else thinks its stupid, too." Kelly got up and made a beeline for the screen door. "Well, I didn't mean to detain you. But you haven't lived till you've tried Aunt Edie's iced tea," she said, grinning. "Oh, no, its fine," I said, getting up as well. In truth, I thought this batch was a little on the sour side and Country Blast could do better, but of course I couldn't say that, and besides, I'd never had Iced tea besides that before so who was I to contradict? Kelly pulled the hair out of her face: that annoying tossing gesture all the popular girls seem to do when they're trying to flirt or end conversations. Was it something I said? "Bye now," she said, slamming the door behind me, and marching promptly up the stairs. I didn't know what to make of her. Assuredly, she was a nice person. The nicest I'd met in longer then a long time. But, I mean, she hadn't seemed that open to being my friend. But then again, I had been spying on her in an alleyway. As I moved to step off the porch, I heard voices coming from the balcony. I didn't want to eavesdrop, but they would think I had been listening if I stepped off the porch now. "Who was that, Kelly?" asked an elderly voice. I guessed Aunt Edie. "Just a friend," she said. "Where's Caroline?" "Was it a nice girl?" asked Aunt Edie. "She was just someone I found in town, okay Aunt Edie? I gave her some of your iced tea, she liked it." Aunt Edie ignored her, and moved heavily towards the fan and switched it on. Their voices were drowned out a little by the fan. "Was it one of those Joel boy's friends?" she asked, an edge of anxiety in her voice. "Aunt Edie, look, that nurse Ceceila color-coded your underwear!" said Kelly. "Kelly!" said Aunt Edie. She moved towards the fan and snapped it off. I heard a cricket somewhere, in the house. "Yes, she was," said Kelly quietly. "I told you not to see anymore of those people," said Aunt Edie sedately. I could hear her sinking into a chair. "She followed me home," "Don't you see, Kelly? Following you home? Serenading you at 2 o'clock? They sound like international spies, not children," she paused for breath. "And they, they-," "What, Aunt Edie?" "They don't believe in Jesus." She breathed. Kelly blew up. "Look, Aunt Edie.Joel is nice- and if you only got to know him, beneath all that he's nice- to me. and I, well..I like him, Aunt Edie!" she said. "And you don't even know that he doesn't go to church, you just think so because of your stupid book club gossip!" "I don't care," said Aunt Edie. "You are not to see him, Kelly Maria. You are not to see him. The situation is dismissed." I could almost feel the tears spraying out of Kelly's eyes, like a garden hose. I could hear the Aunt Edie's great body sinking deeper into her chair, and the snap of her withdrawing a cigarette and sparking a light. "That stuff is bad for you," said Kelly. "Says who?" said Aunt Edie angrily. "Our health teacher Mr. Stefanie. He told us never to do it when we grow up." Aunt Edie softened, and I could see another puff emitting from the balcony. "Kelly, Kelly. You'll find lots of people will try to tell you what to do when you get older." She puffed again. "Want to know my secret? I never let them. The Immovable Edie, they called me back in school. Never let people set perimeters for you. You just take that football and run all they way off campus, if you feel like it," she laughed. "But you have to suffer the consequences for things like that. You'll get lung cancer if you keep smoking like that and you'll get cut from the team if you act like that on a football field." Aunt Edie snorted. "Who would want to anyway? To run with a football all off campus? It's dumb." Aunt Edie snorted again, considerably more audible then the first time. "Ruin my analogy, why don't you? Kelly, dear, you can be so simple." Kelly sniffled. "And remember- you don't need to take orders from anyone- make your own decisions and weigh the-the-," "Consequences, Aunt Edie." "Yes, right. Brilliant you are, sometimes. Weigh the consequences." Then she shooed Kelly off to refill her iced tea, and turned on the fan and television and radio to signify she didn't want to talk to her anymore. I stepped quietly off the porch, and tiptoed around the left side of the house.  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Joel was there. He looked very different. He was wearing a bright plaid sweatervest and jeans-his hair wasn't spiked and his piercings were gone. If I didn't know him as Joel, I would have thought he was a nerd. He was surprised to see me. "Do I know you?" he asked, peering over a pair of Top Gun sunglasses. "No," I said. "But don't go over there- Aunt Edie might take a rifle to your head," "Yeah, thanks- wait- do you know Kelly?" he looked at me confused. "We just met," I said. "Oh." he said, as if he understood. As if he could possibly understand. "Well, where should I leave these?" he asked, producing a floral bouquet from the sleeve of his jacket. "Whoa! How did you do that?" "I practice magic stuff down at Fred's joke shop over there," he said, jabbing the air with a finger. "Cool. Well, I can give them to her, if you want," "Okay," said Joel. "And, uh-tell her I said hi," "I will," I said grinning. I turned back after I was sure he had left, removed the card and left them on the kitchen table. She'd know who they were from- Auntie wouldn't.  
  
I decided to head towards Fred's joke shop- feeling like a lawyer- investigating my story and about to lead the way to justice and a happy ending: for two lost lovebirds. Hey, it gave me something to do.  
  
My mother was "chatting" with the only security guard on duty in town- a few blocks away from Fred's shop but within eye range. Probably shopping around for another husband. For once in about three weeks, it didn't matter to me. I had a problem to resolve. I don't even know what compelled me to unite Joel and Kelly once and for all: maybe because there had been so much misery in my life in the past few weeks that I just couldn't handle it, maybe because I was bored, because I needed something to do. After all, I was in the center of Nebraska. Nothing happened in this state. But I liked to believe it was from the goodness of my heart: a project for me on my journey to self- renewal. An obstacle. A task. I appeared at Fred's joke shop, glowing like I did when I was happy, for the first time in weeks. "Hello, young lady," said a rickety Fred. "Ashley's the name, right?" So arch-nemesis Ashley had been here. If I could argue my case before the court and prove to Kelly she didn't have to listen to these bozos controlling her and take some of her Aunties' medicine, I could eliminate her from the courtroom and the jury's mercy. I felt like asking, "Sir, I'd like to ask you a few questions," in a deep, newscaster voice whilst fingering a pistol I had in my purse for emergencies, but being pistol-less save a large fake one hanging on the wall beside me, I reckoned the effect would be far less imposing. "Has Ashley been here?" I asked, trying to be nonchalant. "Oh, you know her. Can be a bit central minded, in my opinion, but you young people may see a different side of her," he chuckled, and added darkly "If there is one." Well, how do you like that? Moustache Girl had built herself a wee reputation. Fred rubbed his elbow while I pondered, and finally retreated to the back room where I heard a honker and whoopee cushion go off and a boyish donkey bray from Fred. I looked around the shop, finally buying a magnet that said "Step Away From the Refrigerator," when you pushed it, and left. The street was hot- I could feel it through my flip flops. It baked in continuous rays on my neck back, and arms. Good. I'd have a sun tan before I went to school. I took a pair of shades out of my bag, snapped them on, and paraded down the street. Anastacia Greene: Detective & Matchmaker Extraordinaire.  
  
Having nothing else to explore, I went home after running a few errands, picking up some sandwich meat- that was all we ate nowadays- and then I headed towards home. Outside of our house was a shiny new Mercedes Benz, polished and ready to go. Mom was sitting on the steps, beaming and talking with a small man in a plaid suit. "Mom- what's this?" I asked, motioning at the car. "It's for you, Anna!" she cried. "Happy Early Birthday!" Wow. This was the first real, real present mom had ever, ever given me. When I was 12, she gave me a package of popcorn and said I could invite one friend to sleepover. We hadn't even rented movies. I didn't have any friends in 6th Grade anyhow, so I had invited a girl named Lynn who was always complaining about bad hygiene in front of people. By 5 o'clock, she called her mom to pick her up since she claimed "Mary Poppins" gave her nightmares. What Lynn doesn't know is that I was on the stairway when she whispered to her mother, "Mom, these people are so gross! She wants me to borrow her pillow and her hair is such a mess she's probably had lice, and the soup was really old.I bet it was past the sell by date, and.." "Okay, Lynn," her mother had said. "That's not very nice." "They're not nice, either, Mommy. She thinks we should sneak out of the house and go spy on the neighbors, who she thinks do weird religious stuff at night. It's really weird. Please, take me home!" Lynn had started whining. "All we're doing at home is watching football," "Football is barbaric, Mom-you know that," "Yes, dear, but-," "You don't have to treat me like a baby my whole life, Mom, I'll just stay here. Honestly-trying to get me to come home like that- I am 12, y'know!" Then she turned her back on her mother, claimed to have recovered from her nightmares, and then fell asleep on my "lice-filled" pillow in the middle of building a tent. At 13, it had been that old fairy tale book she'd gotten at a garage sale. She gave me the same thing for Christmas- I'd sold it to Good Will after I'd found out that there was only one Fairy Tale in it, and it was hard to read, it was such a bad copy. But a car. A beautiful, elegant, car. Of my very own. To have. To cherish. To keep. In three months, that was, when I was officially fifteen. Slowly, I walked to the car, thinking it must be a joke. I opened the door, and touched the upholstery- real leather. But then something else crossed my mind. Where did she get the money?  
  
The security man was Hispanic, with friendly eyes and a potbelly. "Hey there," he said, with a toothy grin. Yet, I didn't like him. It wasn't just because of him being twenty second in a long, continuous line of my mother's boyfriends since Dad, up to Jojo. No, there was something wrong with Mr. Friendly Eyes. "So, Senor Miguelo, how long have you worked in the mall?" I had already asked this but he had pretended not to hear me. Now he sat thoughtfully, never meeting my eye. "For about twelve months, since my wife left me," he made eye contact, and smiled again. Then he looked fondly at my mother. "Do you like your job?" I asked serenely, smiling back. "Annie," said mom. "That's not very appropriate now, is it?" I sneered at her, knowing it was hateful. But, she didn't lower her eyes like usual. She looked me in the eye, glaring back, in a motherly way, and said, "No, Annie. Now apologize to Mr. Miguelo- he did chip in to buy you that car you know." Personally, it was a little fishy that Miguelo just appeared on the steps one day with a fine Mercedes Benz in tow- and I didn't like his effect on my mother. She was being more motherly- and for all the times I wished she'd been that way, I didn't like it, her control over me. It scared me, and that made me mad. "Annie," she said. She never called me Annie. "Annie, what did you do today?" she asked. "Oh, nothing," I replied. "I'm just boosting up my Nancy Drew skills. Exploring this hic town- seeing if there's anything good." "Annie!" said my mother fiercely. What? "It's okay," said Miguelo. "You don't have to apologize-," "I didn't." "Yes, well, it is a hic town. But, let me tell you something. There are many good secrets and surprises in small towns like this, ci, they have much history. It is good for you to explore- you never know what you'll find," he winked, and I felt sick. He had a small scar on his eye. Mom smiled warmly at Miguelo. I pictured his friendly, winking face on "America's Most Wanted." "This man is known as 'Mean Miguelo," ladies and gentleman, a real horror- head. Leaves a trail of blood wherever he goes. Keep an eye on him, folks!" I pushed my half touched home-cooked enchilada away from me. "Well, its late," I said, pretending to glance at my watch. It was 7:30. "I should probably head to the pool, so I can take a shower." "We'll save your burrito till you get back," said my mother. "It's an enchilada, Mom," I said, grabbing it off my plate and biting heavily into it, cascading cheese across the floor. Mmmm. Yummy. I grabbed my towel and toilet bag and whirled out the door, waving to Mr. Miguelo. I headed in the direction of Kelly's house, and thought better of it. Nancy Drew would never return to a clients house until called or until she had evidence. But, then again, I was working against the client, in a way. Aunt Edie. I had a better idea. A terrific, terrible, horrible, idea. I got in my car, headed towards the town square, and signed up for Aunt Edie's book club.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
"So, who is this new girl?" "I dunno, Lassie," "Do stop calling her lassie, Colleen, you're not in Scotland," "Anyways, what books has she recommended?" "I dunno, Lassie," "Oh, do stop that!" "You think she'll really add something to the club?" "I dunno, Lassie,"  
  
Whack  
  
"Ow!" "Just be thankful it was a paperback!"  
  
A house full of fidgety women, every Tuesday evening from 6-7, all over 43, all bachelorettes or widowers, met in Aunt Edie's basement every two o'clock. Parading elegantly down the stairs now was a Miss Evvy Cokatrice. "Hush, here she comes now!" Evvy was decorated in a horribly tacky and loose blue dress, large, decorative earrings and sparsely populated grayish brownish hair. About fifty, maybe less. Life had not been kind to her. With a walking stick, large sunglasses, and acute hearing, it was evident she was blind. "Hello, Miss Evvy, make yourself at home," said Aunt Edie, bustily pouring out whitish looking lemonade. "Aye, if ever a lass could make lemonade as good as you, Edie, I'll take a hatchet to me head! Hahaha!" said Colleen, with a reddish moustache and plump, friendly frame. "So, Miss Cokatrice, have you been in a past book club?" said Kayla Smith. "Yes," said Evvy. "Well. How do you like that?" "If you don't mind, ladies, I'd like to have some constructive chat. Do any of you have daughters, or granddaughters?" The group stared blankly at her. "Well, yes, I've got an adopted son," said Colleen. "Peiy Nickoo, he calls himself, lives in Africa, of course." "I've got a niece," said Aunt Edie. "She lives with me, here. Two of them, in fact. Caroline and Kelly, two angels." She said, swallowing her lemonade. "Oh, charming. I'm actually staying here with a friend of mine- she has a son- his name is Joel, I believe. Charming lad. Do any of you know him?" All of them shook their heads stonily. Except Aunt Edie. "Well, that's real nice, Evvy, but we really ought to get to work on this book- River Dragons. I thought it was lovely," "No, no," said Colleen. "It was horrible. Prince Culijo was rash," They talked about the book sparingly for a while, making small talk in between lemonade gulps. At 6:54, it returned entirely to the choosing of the next book. "Memoirs of a Geisha," offered Colleen. "The Scarlett Letter," said Edie. The other women offered books no one had ever heard of and were quickly dismissed. "So, Evvy, you have any input dear?" asked Edie. "Oh, anything with a good message is always practical, hon. I particularly like the kinds of books with the message 'not to judge a book by its cover,' y'know, like a real nice story. Oh, I know! Romeo and Juliet! By Shakespeare!" Everyone was silent. "Well, I really think that "Memoirs of a Geisha," is a bit more appropriate- ," began Edie. "Why, lass? If Shakespeare idn't appropriate, only good God above knows what is!" she chuckled, and wiped the lemonade from her upper lip. "I suppose we should have a vote then," chimed in a woman named Samantha. "All in Favor of Romeo and Juliet say I!" "I," said Samantha. "I," said Colleen. "I," said Evvy. "I," said Kayla. "I," said a younger woman black woman named Sabrina. Edie bit her lip. "Well, its unanimous," said Evvy, as she fumbled for her stick and moved towards the stairs. "Goodnight, ladies. I know of a particularly nice hardback copy at Banobles," "Wait a minute, there!" said Sabrina. "Really nice job on the book choosing- I've been waiting for this club to read something interesting. Am I right?" she asked. "Here here," everyone chimed. "I don't see why you must make such a fuss about 'the great message,' and all, Evvy, its just a book. And I don't even like Shakespeare. He's a nutter, he is. And." when she looked up, the book club had left. "Kelly shouldn't be with that boy Joel," she said. Then louder, as if someone had contradicted her, "I know what I'm talking about! Children who follow the crowd like that are bad news!" She sighed and launched into a strained looking rocking chair, and pulled a cigarette from her generous waist.  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Evvy Cokatrice stepped into the hot sun, and made her way towards the Community center. She moved thickly towards the bathroom, made sure it was deserted, and sighed. Just how boring and narrow minded could a bunch of old women get? I pulled the wig- courtesy of Frank's joke shop- off of my head, and shook loose a heap of mousy brown hair. It looked different. Glowing. I unbuttoned the front of my shirt and pulled the abundant pillows from it, surprising even myself when my waistline shrunk again to its normal size. I stuffed all of the things in a bag, tied it with a string, and pulled my shirt over my head. It would look really suspicious if I was wearing the same outfit of "Evvy Cokatrice." I smacked my lips together, and looked in the mirror. "Evvy Cokatrice. The names Evvy Cokatrice," I said, curling the back of my lip upward, so I sounded older. Everybody at school used to think that was so neat. "Actually, Evvy sounds a little fake, but Cokatrice is perfect for a stupid, old, book club goer." Alarmed, I whirled around. Standing in the doorway was the strangest looking person I had ever seen. She was pale, with a frosty face and sunburned arms. She was wearing what looked like a jumper- made out of a shower curtain. Her hair was done up in what looked like rags, and bangles and bracelets of every sort dangled from every available spot. Her work boots were thick and mud-caked, and sprayed dirt everywhere she stepped. "I'm Caroline," she said, skipping towards the sink gaily. "Glad to meet you," I said. "Super to meet you, too. I've met twelve of my best friends in bathrooms, you know." I laughed. "You look like you know Kelly." She said. "This means you've seen me snooping around your house." "Yeah. If you want to be a secret investigator, you should really try a supersonic ear. There's people enough who listen under our porch," she said the last part darkly. "People like Ashley?" I asked. She looked at me strangely. "Why would Ashley spy under our porch?" she said. "She's Kelly's best friend." "Well, if you didn't know, Ashley pressures Kelly into a lot of stuff." She looked at me strangely again. "How do you know all this stuff?" "I work for the CIA." "My other friend, does too! Do you know Agent 068Y8?" "No, I really do!" Anastacia Greene, Liar. "And why would you tell me this?" "I trust you," I said weakly. "And you could be valuable evidence." I finished washing my hands. "I don't trust you," said Caroline, skipping again, gaily. I hate skipping. "Why should you?" I sniffled. "You just met me." "See you in school, Cokatrice. Or was it Anastacia Greene?" Then Caroline left. Strange family.  
  
I was waxing my Mercedes Benz in my new purple wig when mom got home- back from a date with Miguelo. "Hi, honey," she said. She wasn't drunk. Painfully, I remembered the honeymoon night. The letters. The plan to runaway. I looked hard at Miguelo. Staring back at me was a man who wouldn't lie, cheat, steal, probably not even smoke. He would cook for my mom, and clean, and love her until the end of her days. He was sincere, and friendly, hard enough to find in Nebraska. Why did I have such a hard time excepting Miguelo? "We got you enrolled at 'Friendland High School,'" she said, tossing me a thick packet. I snatched it out of the air with the hand that wasn't waxing the car. "You start week after next. Right after your Drivers Ed test. You've got drivers school tomorrow, so warm up some salad and go to bed, Ok?" "Drivers Ed isn't school, Mom," I said. But I'd go to sleep. I would do anything I had to to drive my Mercedes Benz.  
  
I started seeing more and more of Caroline who delayed my research on Kelly and Joel quite a bit. She always seemed to pop up at exactly the wrong time- when I was buying another wig for Evvy Cokatrice at Fred's, when I was buying "Romeo and Juliet," at the bookstore. it was getting harder and harder to come up with excuses, and at all costs, I had to prevent her from knowing Evvy Cokatrice. I was already in grave danger, since she knew my name. I would have to be much more careful with my parrelel identity. It was fun being a secret agent, and if my secret should end, I'd be in trouble. The purpose of my life was to rid Ashley out of the picture and get Kelly and Joel together.  
I'd set up a little bit of a study in the mother's attic of our trailer. There was barely room to stand in there, but with some squeezing, I could manage to fit all of my "case papers," and notes. Nothing good. And finally, I was going to take the Drivers Ed test- in my new Mercedes Benz. Driving it was exhilarating- I didn't know how I could possibly obey the confining traffic signs- I had to just drive.  
  
The second meeting of book club was two weeks away on the dawn of my Drivers Ed test. I drove myself, only missing a stop sign once, and parked in front of the horrible, grayish green building. It looked sick, and full of hatred. "Names Salia," said a thin, pasty looking woman. "Salia Mohin. Are you taking a test for the drivers liscence?" Just like everyone else here. "We're going to need to request you use our student loan car.." said Salia, pointing to an ancient looking station wagon. No! Benziie.... I clambered into the horrible thing- no bobble head dogs on the dashboards, no colorful bumper stickers (not attached to the car, of course) no "Tree Pine Scent," hanging from the mirror. It was desolate. "Now back out," said Salia, serenely. I did so smoothly, steering clear of Benziie and Salia's car- a mini van. "Pull into the right lane, turn on Bellemont, and drive down Columbia for awhile. Let's see what you can do." I did so, easing swiftly but carefully down the drive and through the parking lot, and onto the road. Too others, it was scary. To me, it was home. I whistled as I drove. Salia frowned. "Careful for that red light there," she said, pointing a glossy red fingernail at the avenue. I see it, Pretty Nails. I turned onto Columbia, nothing but the open road, wishing this thing was a convertible. Salia eased back. "Very good. Just how long have you been driving?" "Two weeks," I said. "But I practiced on my Dad's Ford Anglia back in the city," Dad. I hadn't even thought of him for weeks. "Watch out!" screamed Salia. I jerked to a stop, nearly hitting a Volvo. "Pay attention!" she said sharply, brushing her hair back into place and making a checkmark on her clipboard. For good measure, I did a U turn, and headed back up towards Bellemont. "Pretty good," she said, her pride hurt. "Did I pass?" I said. "Well, you only need to work on stopping abruptly," she said. "I'd reckon you passed." "Thanks!" She handed me the card: my ticket to freedom. The identification I had never had. The idea of me with a lost identity presented itself, and it didn't seem funny anymore. I really HADN'T had an identity before this beautiful thing. Who had I been? The popular, fun, ditzy freshman who ruled the school and wanted to be a cheerleader? The sensitive, sarcastic, hurt family girl? Or the slim, sexy, super intelligent secret agent, out to set the world right, a motherly figure to all? I couldn't be all three at the same time. It was like a sandwich. The cool, confident, imaginary figures on the outside. The first thing you think of when you think of a sandwich. But the thin, frail, meat inside? Living off the protection and identity the bread gave it? Bread could go off and be someone else, but the sandwich meat, made for a sandwich, had to have the other two surrounding it to be someone, something special. Annie the Sandwich.  
  
Chapter 7  
  
"Callahan?" "here," "Deffler?" "Wassabee?" "Fine, thank you, Cameron. Greene?" Silence. "Greene?" "Oh, here," "Pay attention, Greene," "Yes, Miss Whuffet," "Esidmone?" My head fell again to "Romeo and Juliet." "Greene? You're partners with Caroline," "For what?" "The oral! Honestly, Miss Anastacia, one should think you'd pay attention after at least fifteen times of repeatedly calling your name!" Miss Whuffet stormed over to me, her lips quivering. She snatched the book from my fingers. "What are you reading this for anyway?" she said, examining the cover. "We read it later in the quarter anyhow." She pocketed the little book. "Miss Whuffet, I'd like to have my book." "You don't need it just now, Miss Greene." "But-," "If you continue this way, I shall hold it to the very end of the quarter." "I hear there's a movie with Gwyneth Paltrow in it about that book," "There's already one with Leo DiCaprio," "No- this one is about what happened before Shakespeare wrote his play." "Oh, cool. Anyone have any gum?" "MISS WHUFFET, I WANT MY BOOK!" The room was silent. "Nerd," someone said. "Greene, there is no need to raise your voice. I will withhold this book on my authority until the end of the day, or more, if necessary. No one reads in high school anyway," Someone chuckled. "But if I don't finish it, Evvy Cokatrice will never have it done for book club!" "Pardon me?" Oops. "Miss Eve Cockatoo may check it out at any library. I should hardly think you need read the book for her." She said. "There will be no more on the subject. The book will remain under my possession until you are later notified. Now, the bell. Advisory is over." I trundled down the hall. For the love of Pete, why did I have to give away my name? Now everyone would try to find out who Evvy Cokatrice was, and they'd find me out. "Stop!" Caroline was standing in front of my classroom. She pulled me by the collar, with surprisingly strong grip. She forced me into the bathroom, mad as a hornet. "Okay, spill. Who is Evvy Cokatrice?" I shook my head. "WHO?" "It's not important, and it's none of your business," "You better believe it's my business! It has to do with my sister, and my aunt. She has the only book club in town, I'm not stupid." "Plenty of people have book clubs in this hic town. There's nothing else to do in this state," "No!" she said, pressing me against the wall. "There's a lot to do, little Miss City Slicker, and even if you don't like how we live out here, get used to it. You live in a trailer, so shut your piehole!" I was shocked. Caroline had seemed so nice in the Community center. "Sorry," she said, loosening but not taking off her grip. "I have a temper," she said. "It can get messy." I didn't say anything. "You're right about Ashley, she's a meanie, and my sister deserves better. I have to look out for her a lot, Anastacia. Its like.she's my daughter, she can't think for herself, so I have to defend her, and well, you don't know what its like," she sighed. "Actually, I do." "No, you don't." "I do, okay? My mom has been an alcoholic and a player on my dad for a year now. Why do you think we live out here? A job? She doesn't have one. The moneys almost gone, and she basically relies on men to keep her going. I always have to be there, be her mother. Well, it never occurred to her to be my mother did it? All the times she jumped out the window and went off with that loser Jojo I had to put it behind me and keep pushing her. Its heavy pushing my mom! And now she's getting her life together and I can't even get used to it- I'm so darn used to taking care of her, I don't even need anyone to take care of me. I don't need anyone," I turned around. "nobody." "You're wrong, Anastacia," she said placidly. "You're lucky. You have a mother, who's changing. She loves you, too, deep down. I think coming here was good for you. We don't have a mother. We have Edie. You don't realize how lucky you are that she's turning around and taking care of you. For me and Kelly, its too late. Our parents are dead. But you still have yours. You still have a chance, Annie. You do need someone to take care of you, you need it bad." She wiped the tears that had formed on her cheeks away with a paper towel, and she turned around and left me sitting there, alone.  
  
Ashley was sitting at the sophomore lunch table in the media center, trying to get her headphones to work. Unaware that a secret agent was working against her, unaware that she was being watched. "Darn!" she emptied the batteries from her Walk Man in a terrific wrath and scattered the parts across the room. Clearly, it was an easily fixed problem. The battery compartment spring had twisted. Nothing a practiced hand couldn't fix. Joel walked into the library, chatting gaily to Kelly. Ashley sneered as she saw the couple, and got up. What the twisted gates of HE double hockey sticks was wrong with her anyways? Why did she want Kelly to stay away from Joel so badly? "Kelly, Slim Jim and the gang bothering you?" "Actually we were just talking about our science project." "No, really? Kel, this is so dumb. You could have any boy at the school waiting on your very hand and foot- grow up the richest woman in Nebraska, next to me. Why do you waste your time with him?" "He's nice, friendly." "He's poor, Kelly!" "Hush!" "What? POOR POOR POOR, JOEL IS POOR!" Joel looked up and turned red from behind a stack of books. " I don't care if he's poor. The only reason you do is that dumb club we made when we were six!" "We're blood sisters, Kelly, we have to listen to each other!" Kelly hung her head. "It wasn't even my blood anyways! Why didn't we just do it right and cut ourselves open like everyone else?" "I'm afraid of needles, if you must no. So who's blood did I rub on my skin?" Afraid of needles! "The dog had an infection that day and." "Oooooooh!" Ashley ran screaming from the room, hand over mouth. Go, Kelly. She'd have to be a complete idiot to share blood with that scamp! Kelly suppressed a giggle and sat down at the deserted chair. I walked out of the library. Maybe I didn't even have to interfere at all. Kelly would break through to Ashley in the end.  
  
"So." continued Mr. Edgharplume, "For our next project, I want you to really grasp what its like to maintain a group, economically and emotionally. What are the hardships and obstacles your group must overcome, the strives you must make to reach a final goal, and how the economy affects your group. I trust this will be a fun and educational assignment. I would like a report on your group, its members, and your goal by next Tuesday. No more then five. Yes, Donnavaon, any kind of group appropriate for school. A marriage, a club, a band." My first assignment for "Economy" class. Oh, boy. Caroline wasn't even in my class, and I didn't know anyone else. In the five minutes it took for Mr. Edgharplume to answer about two peoples' questions, everyone had broken into small cliques dotted across the room. Everyone looked threatening except for a small group in the corner, which I placidly walked over to. "Hi," I said shyly. "Do you mind if." "If ya wanna be in a band, hop aboard!" said a friendly looking guy with jet black hair and a dirty shirt. "I see we've all made our groups already," said Mr. Edgharplume. "Very well. Forget next Tuesday- I'll see what you have now- and I do hope your broadening your horizons and making NEW friends," he sauntered around the room with his notepad. "I'm Jet," he said. "And this is Gwyneth and Steve. We've had a band for two years now: Blue Devils. Our goal is to make a music video for the Disney channel, ok?" he said. "That's kind of far-fetched," I said. "How are you-we-going to do that?" They giggled. "Well, Gwyneth has some useful connections," he said, smiling. His teeth were perfect. The first boy I'd met without helitosis. "I can't play anything," I said. "Oh, we'll teach you. We've needed a back-up singer or tambourine player for a few months now." He grinned again. What a devastatingly cute smile. I grinned feebly.  
  
Open campus lunch: such beautiful words. It was the second day of school, Thursday. Caroline and I were touring the gardens of the school on the outside of the outside of the courtyard. She was wearing a floppy black hat and a pair of those gigantic sunglasses you get at carnivals, and holding a blueprint she'd acquired when volunteering in the office. "There should be a path just around here, she said, letting her glasses hang loose on their chain. "Maybe its gone," I said boredly. "I bet not." Fingering the map and tilting her head questioningly to the sky, she sidled around a pile of wood. That's one of the things I had learned to love about Caroline- she was never "just so." She was never walking- she skipped or galloped or ran- and no teacher could tell her not to. She was never "Okay," she was either furious, bored, ecstatic, sad, or confused. Rarely confused. She was just always so determined- everything about her, clothes, hair. I was sincerely glad we'd met. "So what's this I hear about Jet Rhothe in Economy?" said Caroline, putting her gigantic glasses up again. "Jet Rhothe?" Oh, yeah. The cutesy with the band. "Gwyneth tells me he was coming on to you." "Was not," I said. "She's known him since third grade, Annie, and I bet my glasses she knows when he's coming onto someone." I sucked in my breath. I wouldn't mind at all if Jet Rhothe-what a beautiful name- liked me. Caroline shrugeed and disappeared into the trees. A few seconds later she cried out. "Wow! Annie- come see- I found the creek!" "I thought we were looking for a path." "Oh shut up and come here." I scrambled over a few logs, the school disappearing behind me. There were no signs forbidding entrance. The reeds parted, and there was a massive, flowing river. "Creek?" I asked. "This is a river, stupid." "Oh, whatever, just take your clothes off!" "Take my-?" What? Caroline was insane. "Yeah, doof, don't you want to go swimming?" Yes, with Jet Rhothe. "I don't know-," Caroline was already in her bra and underwear. "Bombs away!" A terrific splash emerged from the creek, cascading water everywhere. Momentarily Caroline's laughing face emerged, slightly blue. "You look cold," I said, kicking off my shoes. "Not very," her teeth were chattering. Tenaciously, I tiptoed to the edge of the water. "Oh, don't be a lug!" she cried, sucking me in with her arm. The water was blissfully, refreshingly cold. It engulfed me in waves of its wetness, like it held the secret to life. I fought against the current, reluctantly rising up to the top again, digging my toes into the soft sand. "How deep do you think it is?" Caroline stuttered. "About five feet," I said, digging my feet farther into the sand. It was warmer down there. "Do you want to swim around?" she asked. "No," I said. But I didn't want to get out, either. We stood there, shivering, for a few minutes, then crept towards the beach. "Let's eat." Caroline unwrapped two corned beef sandwiches from her pack and tossed me one. My wet fingers made the sandwich soggy, and I fed most of it to a pair of mallards floating nearby. Caroline checked her watch. She and I both knew we had to leave soon. But we didn't want to. "Do you want to skip?" she asked. I paused between a soggy mouthful. I had never skipped school before. "It wouldn't really be that fun, if we knew we weren't supposed to be here." Caroline paused. "Are you sure?" she asked slowly. "Yes." Said a voice, coming from the bushes. I turned around. Standing there was a sniveling, glasses wearing freshman with dark, Hispanic skin and flyaway hair. "Connie!" cried Caroline angrily. "Why did you follow us? I told you I wasn't going to be able to have a tutoring session today!" I turned around to get a better look at Connie. She had blondish eyes, making her look like she was sick. "And I thought it was a boy." She sniveled. "Who cares what you thought? You shouldn't have followed me!" Caroline paused, and turned her head. I didn't blame her. Our secret place was spoilt. "This is a pretty place," she said into the stillness. She walked towards us slowly and sat down next to me. "However did you find it?" "None of your beeswax," said Caroline, suddenly getting up. She pulled a vine off of a tree, looped it under her arms, and pushed off, landing with a splash in the water. She emerged, scowling at Connie. "Mind if I try?" she said. "You're wearing a dress," I pointed out. An ugly one, too. Probably from some sale in Filene's Basement. Then I felt bad for thinking that. "Oh, yeah. Annie, this is Connie. She tutors me in math every Friday," she said. "It's not Friday," I pointed out. I'm the pointer-outer, I thought. "I know. She tutors me on Wednesdays, too," Caroline dunked beneath the surface. "And she blew me off," Connie added quietly. Caroline emerged. "Soundwaves travel quicker underwater, Connie." She said. "I learned that much from you." "That's science, not math." "Oh well." Under she went again. "But you did blow me off," Up Caroline's head went again, she was furious this time. "Connie, I do have a life. If I don't show up, you don't follow me, okay? Never come here again." I expected her to go under again, but she made her way towards the shore. I walked over to the vine and jumped in, getting water up my nose and feeling wetter and worse then before. What is it about that very first time you jump into a lake? Maybe if it was still our secret place, I wouldn't have gotten water up my nose. Connie looked hurt. She gathered her belongings and rose up, trying to be graceful. She had probably read a lot of books with vivid descriptions about "the gracefulness and poignance when she rose to a stand," or something like that. I didn't read very many books like that. I didn't read many books. She turned her horrible mane and sick-looking eyes to me, almost begging me to ask her to stay. I turned my head. What would Caroline think, if I asked her to stay? She'd call me a softie. And I wasn't. After all I'd endured, me being a softie was humanly impossible. So Connie rose and turned into the woods, back arched and body slumped, probably in one of those ways she'd read about in books like "when the lady turned to leave, she was in despair, with no grace and the slouch of a cat," or something like that. Caroline was getting dressed again, whipping her wet hair around her face like a supermodel, except supermodels, even when their hair is wet, doesn't stick to their face.  
  
Chapter 8  
  
It was the day of the second book club meeting. Hello, Evvy Cokatrice. I jumped out of bed, almost as excited as the day that I'd taken my drivers test. Unfortunately, Benzzy had to wait at home, since if Evvy and Annie drove the same car, it might be a little conspicuous. I was really worried, though. Worried that Caroline knew who I was, and told Ashley or Kelly or Joel. But there was always the reassuring voice that blunt, unique Caroline wouldn't do something like that, but would prefer to nip me in the butt when I changed at the Community Center, or maybe peered into the window while I was changing into my fat suit. Hardly reassuring. So, I changed at the house and crept out the door, making quick strides in the event Mom should wake up. I grabbed my cane from underneath the willow in our "front yard," and pocketed Romeo and Juliet. Then, I set off for breakfast somewhere before the book club meeting. There was, of course, several Ma's or Pa's or Billie's cafés dotted across the town. It was Nebraska, after all. I decided to eat in at the "Holiday Inn," where I hadn't been before and, chances were, no one would recognize me. I ordered a big breakfast, to make up for my immense size. Put away about half of it, and I still had a stomachache. How did fat people do it? I checked my "Relox," spin-off watch, and made my way to Kelly's, Caroline's, and Edie's house. I rapped sharply at the door, and was warmly greeted by Colleen, who seemed only slightly more sober then last time. This time, with her was a rather ugly looking carpet bag from which dangled three pairs of flip-flops. "Going to Dallas for business after the club, lass," she said, when I stared at the shoes dangling from her bag. "And, as I always say, you can never have enough foam sandals," she patted her bag with a far away look, and ushered me inside. We paraded into the basement where I almost forgot I was blind, but no one realized me tucking my stick under my arm to descend the stairs. "Evvy!" they said, all looking much more energetic except for Colleen. "That book was.enlightening," sighed Kayla. Everyone else nodded their heads in mutual agreement. What a pack of low- lifes. Only Miss Edie looked angry. "I don't think it was right of them to go against their families at all," said Edie, pouring herself a glass of lemonade which, judging by its greenish tint, looked like the same batch as last month. "They must have hurt their families a deal by what they did." The others stared blankly at her. "Did you read the book, Edie?" asked Kayla gently. "I don't have to to know those two fools should never have been together!" "Well, that's a false accusation if I ever heard one!" Colleen said loudly. This silenced Aunt Edie into a remorseful silence. "I don't think we should have this book club anymore," she said sniffily, taking a cookie and, after knocking it against the table, setting it back on the plate. "Aunt Edie?" came a soft voice from the stairs, holding another tin of cookies. "Aunt Edie, is everything all right?" Kelly was at the top of the stairs. I turned my head and adjusted my glasses. What if she saw me? I'd be dead. My entire mission would have to be aborted and, worst of all, I'd loose two friends. "Is everything all right?" she repeated, trying to maintain eye contact with her Aunt. What was I doing here? What was I trying to do? Who was I? What had I turned into? I had come to Nebraska with mom. I had had the courage to stay there. I'd made a lifelong friend with a twisted family and an Aunt who just didn't understand love. So, what was I doing? What was Evvy Cokatrice? Why was I even here? I could have left, right then on the mountain. I would have found food. I could have left, that time in the trailer, I didn't have to make soup. I had had the notes ready and everything. I was not a spy. I left the room, pressing my hands to my face. Everything is ok. They don't even need you to be here. They need you to be you. I bolted from the house, nearly catching my fingers in the door, and home, where I knew my mother would be sitting at a table, frowning, upset because I had deserted her. I knew he would be there, patting her on the shoulder, and I knew there would be a place on her shoulder where I could come up from behind and pat her, gently, to let her know I was Ok, that everything was Ok. Just as there would be room for Kelly to pat Aunt Edie when she came back from the sophomore prom with Joel, after she had snuck out. After she had defied Ashley. After everything had healed, on its own, without Evvy Cokatrice, and I smiled as I ran up the steps, discarding my fat suit as I went, wearing just my pajamas even though it was October, and I walked into the room and I patted my mother's shoulder.  
  
Jet, Gwyneth, Steve, and me, The Blue Devils, sporadically wrote our status report in between rehearsels and fiddling on Steve's I-MAC to make cool, swishy backgrounds for our music video. In my opinion, we were good enough already for the Disney Channel, since I hadn't even broken a vase with my tambourine or anything and enough was as good as a feast, but Jet, in his not-mad way, was furious with our performances. Not mine- Gwyneth's. "Gwyneth, can you play the bass guitar?" he'd say, stopping us in the climax of the song. "Their was nothing wrong with it," she'd retort. "I know," he'd say, "That's the problem," Go on, Jet. At least someone is listening. "Guitarists have to be more loose. Or we'll just look like some little pop band made up of nine year olds. We don't want that, do we?" he'd smile. With his devastatingly-cute-do-what-I-want-now smile. I had labeled each and everyone of his smiles mentally, being able to tell from the corner of his mouth his emotions. Then, we'd start again, Steve would groan, and Gwyneth would intentionally mess up just to make him mad. So, we ditched practicing and paid our full attention to the I-MAC. After a half hour, Jet leaned back and studied all three of us, from a distance, I tilted my head so he'd get my good side. "We've got to get to Barney's," he declared. LoverBoy has gone mad. Lock your doors, people. "What?" I asked. "Barney's Costuming." "But isn't that a Halloween place?" "Point taken. Halloweed in next week-perfect." "You're saying we get costumed," "Seems that way." Jet took his pack and slung it over his shoulder. "Tomorrow. Four. Be there." Then, he went upstairs and slammed the door behind him. I decided to leave, too, since Gwyneth and Steve were anxious to get to there insult Jet/ make out session.  
  
The air had decided to clarify that it was indeed October with a 19 degree temperature drop, so the air was frosty when I left the house. I could see Jet at the end of the block, his breath making small rings around his head and his leather jacket threatening and moving, always moving, with his body. Something about me wanted to touch his jacket, hold his hand, be like a regular teenage girl with a regular love fantasy, but the other half wanted to watch him from a distance while he moved, trying to guess what he was thinking and what he was all about. It was strange. He was funny, he had other friends who he treated the same way as me whom I was jealous of in a contorted way, but sometimes I felt to shy to speak to him. I acted to him like I'd act to God. Thinking about God made me look at the Church at the other end of the block. Mom had always been an aetheist, but Dad had believed in God fiercely. Now that I think about it, having a faith like that was good for him. I guess faith like that teaches you about commitments, and love, and trust. And the pure innocence of a simple life, which nobody nowadays has. I wondered what was going on in New York- a different story everywhere. Lots of writers lived in New York so they could be inspired, and righteously so. Enough things happened in New York every hour to make up for everywhere else in the world, I thought, and here was just the opposite. There was just one story, in this town. Just one, amongst about 10,000 residents. Not many, but if those had been residents of, say, Manhattan, they would be so different. They would seem like more people, because more complex things were going on in their lives. It was in this way that I grew to envy both places, which I would never really be a part of. I was used to New York. I knew the best routes to avoid muggers when I snagged a city bus home, I knew the bus routes and things to do. I even knew the accent, sort of. I would seem like a New Yorker. But I didn't know entirely what was going on: I wasn't part of the throb of people who didn't even have to try to think to avoid muggers. They just knew, it was in their blood. And here, I lived here now, I knew my way home, but I wasn't part of the throb here either. Somewhere in the adapting process, I'd missed the part about being instead of faking. Jet had turned the corner, where his motorbike was parked in front of Ma's Grill. I could hear him starting the engine, and pictured him sitting on the seat for a while, in the cold. Maybe it would snow. The vroom vroom started and off Jet sped. He turned first back onto our street and showered by me, looking at what was ahead. He didn't see me. I wondered what was ahead, for me. I turned towards the top of the street, trying to trace Jet's footsteps with my own in the frosty sidewalk. A flake of snow fell onto my head, and I looked up into the endless, endless grey. Daddy had used to say that snow was the angels- that they had spilled their coconut when they were making their cake. He used to catch the drops on his tongue and smack his lips, saying "angel cake. Mmm." Then he would pick me up and take me out into the snow on his shoulders, and together we would catch the drops on our noses and chins and tongues until Mom told us to come inside, it was freezing, and she'd cover our eyes and lead us to the table and it would be set with steaming cups of hot cocoa and marshmallows, set for three. Mom hadn't seemed afraid, then. She had seemed happy. All three of us had seemed happy. Maybe that was what I had missed, when I had wanted to be a secret agent, when I wanted to run away. I had just wanted a family, to surprise me with cocoa and read me stories and say that snow was the spilled cake of angels, up in heaven. Every bit of being a family, I had missed. In that moment, I understood everything and I wasn't confused and dismal and strange. Then I raced home, and I sang 'Zippity Doo Da," all the way, because the memories of our happy times had given me faith; the faith that I would have a bright future.  
  
Chapter 9  
  
It was three weeks before the International Prom Preparation Nite, which was basically fancy words for a dance that wasn't formally set up and was really just supposed to be our entire school celebrating our differences and kicking back. It wasn't supposed to be any type of formality. But the Senior Class from 2000 had decided on their own that they didn't get enough Nite Dances as it was and who was the PTA to prevent them from having their own prom, only better, because this time the Freshman, Senior, and Sophomore girls were allowed to come and they were prettier and more flirtatious and easier to tease because they were not studying for their SAT's and discarding their appearance. So, Prom Nite it became. The Underground Newspaper Club, which no one was supposed to know about but everyone did anyhow, collaborated with the male seniors of 2000 and posted a notice that International Prom Preparation Nite had turned into Prom Prep Nite in which anyone who was anyone attended and yes, it was a formality, and the teachers were surprised when the balloons and colored paper burst from the ceiling and everyone arrived in party dresses and the lights were dimmed. Caroline thought it was stupid, but then again, she hardly believed in Media and didn't like school dances at all, though I thought they were fun. She had considerably tightened up since the discovery of our secret place via Connie, who had, as well, joined the Computer Club and stopped tutoring Caroline altogether. I didn't feel that sorry for her, because now she was happily dating a member of the Computer club named Ned who brought hankies in his pocket and used hand sanitizer, and they were always enraptured in a long, boring conversation about DNA, Broadway Musicals, or Algebraic Notation, something I didn't know anything about. It had gotten too cold for open campus lunch just a few weeks ago, so now we were cooped up everyday in the smelly cafeteria, and Vice-Principal Naude had even restricted us from going to restaurants for lunch and leaving campus at all after some sophomore had played truth or dare at Maggiamo's to some messy results and a shocked waitress. So, high-school was the same, with nothing even halfway interesting except for economy class. Mr. Edgharplume had turned back our latest status reports and he claimed he was extremely impressed with the realistic ideals we had taken into consideration. Not only had Gwyneth remembered to add financial problems to Blue Devils, she had added arguments, and kept a detailed chart of our progress and disputes on a heavily labeled graph. All the while she and Steve became more and more obvious, and Jet and I started to become loners.  
  
"Now, today we'll be going over a few factors I forgot to mention when I told you about your projects," said Mr. Edgharplume. "Some groups are going to find their differences so great they really cannot maintain a good report any longer and find themselves no longer enjoying the assignment," he cleared his throat. "Especially marriages," he waved his hand at the front row, all of which were the couples who had cut themselves completely from society and had nothing save eachother. Tiffany Barnes, married to Toby Barnes, giggled as she wrote her new name all over her Algebra Notebook. "In the event that a group feels it is necessary to separate, they must do so. The person who leaves will have to start an independent project, such as a self-began organization or profession, and will have to manage themselves alone. Guaranteed someone shall leave, though I hope you will not do so without great consideration, because you will not be able to rejoin your group," He tapped his desk to emphasize his point. Hands flickered in the air like matches. Jet, who sat in front of me, bent his head. Four o'clock, he mouthed to us all, who nodded in mutual agreement. "You have the next few minutes to read chapters 3-8 and write any thoughts about how economy influences politics down. Go." He did his famous "Mr. Edgharplume," position, where, he turned, so his back was facing the students, and his head faced the blackboard, which neatly outlined his brown skin and tweed suit. He rested his hand on his hip and cleared his throat. He didn't look studious, he looked creepy.  
  
"So," said Caroline, while chewing on her famous corned beef sandwich. "Did you ask Jet to Mini Prom Nite?" "No, and what would you care if I did." "I don't know. Maybe we could all go together," she said. "The three of us? I don't mean to sound snotty or anything, Caroline, but three people isn't-," "Four," she said quickly. We sat in silence. "Who would be the fourth?" I finally asked, looking at the hard, pretend- wood surface. "Cary Lulle," she said, biting off more corned beef. I suddenly wondered what it would be like to be vegetarian. "Do you know who he is?" she asked. "Yes," I lied. "He's the tall kid in advisory, at the end of the roll because he came late," she offered, studying me. "Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?" I asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact but knowing I just sounded mean. She shrugged. "It never came up," she said. "And besides, it's not like you ever asked." I got up and threw my tray into the bin, with a terrific slam. "What, did you think I would make fun of you or something?" I demanded. I was quivering all over. "Why on earth would you think that?" she asked. I glared at her. "Because its Cary Lulle. Lots of people make fun of Cary Lulle," "You're not lots of people." "That's right. I'm your friend. So why didn't you tell me." "I don't believe what I'm hearing." "You'd better." "Or what?" "We'll see." "Jesus, Annie, I didn't think you would be upset! He's just a fling I happen to have, okay? Cary is nice, and if you think I'm so immature as to not tell my friend when I have a boyfriend because she might laugh at me, you can go jump off a bridge! I don't care at all what people think of me, ok? Why else would I wear shower curtains and be the way I am? I don't care if you laugh. I'm the one he's dating!" she screeched. I sat down. Then I got up and went to the library, feeling really, really stupid. Caroline was frowning at me from inside the cafeteria. Kelly and Joel were feeding each other bits of food and laughing when I walked in. I turned my head habitutously, looking for Ashley to come and burst them up, but she was poring over a book on Chinese Water Torture in the corner. She didn't even seem to care about Kelly and Joel. I sulked over to the Books on Tape section and sat down between the rows and cried until the bell rang.  
  
At three fifty, I left the school and headed towards the infamous Barney. Gwyneth and Steve had taken Gwyneth's car and I'd walked to school today, so I was set out to face the October cold alone, wishing Jet was wrapping me up with him in that ridiculous jacket. When I came to the place, the hinges were rusted on the door and the paint faded. It didn't look like it could help aspiring divas at all. I opened the door, from which a rusty bell hung that made a sick like noise when I walked into the room. Barney was a spry, young man, who strangely resembled Fred, who was leafing through a catologue on fake heads. I looked around at the sequined palace and wondered where everyone was. Jet was standing at the very end of the aisle, alone, his back towards me. He turned when I was about to tap him on the shoulder. "Glad you came," he said, holding up a shirt with "Massacre" written all over it and a shirt with "Evil Reigns," in blue letters. Both were grotesque. "Which one?" he asked. "Neither," I said. He laughed. "Didn't think so. I actually pictured an "all decade" sort of look- you know, one of your girls in a poodle skirt, someone from the 60's, a disco queen, and someone from the 80's," he held up some poorly done sketches. "See?" Cool. "Great, so long as I'm the 80's," I said. Jet's face fell. "I had it written out as Gwyneth for the 80's and Steve for the 50's," he said. "But they'll want to be in closer eras, don't you think?" I smiled weakly. "I know they're boyfriend and girlfriend, Annie," he said solidly. "Are you okay with that?" I asked. "Sure," he said. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that I like Gwyneth, but, well.ever since we were three and a half, its been Gwyneth, Jet, Steve, Steve, Jet, Gwyneth, and now its sort of GwynethSteve- Jet." I nodded, waiting for the mention of my name. "I guess I'm being goofy, huh?" "Oh, no, Jet. But, well, you know, that hormone thing again." Dumb, dumb, dumb. "Ha." The bell rang, and in came GwynethSteve. "Orrysa I'm Atela," said Steve. "We're from all decades this year," he said, handing Steve his sketches unenthusiastically. "How about me and Gwynn go for 50's, 60's?" he asked, smiling at Gwyneth. She smiled back. "Sure," he said. "That makes me 70's, and Annie 80's." We scouted Barney's for a while, making the perfect costumes, and in the end pooling out money for the set. In the end I had a goofy pony tail holder, a big, loose sweater, leg warmers and a jean skirt and Top Gun sunglasses. Gwyneth had a cutesy poodle skirt and T-Bird jacket, and Steve had some leather pants, leather jacket thing. Even Jet looked excited about his afro and disco suit. Gripping our bags, we headed our separate ways. I could tell something was wrong the minute I walked up to the house. Two cars were parked outside instead of one. No, instead of Miguelo's old Ford (and of course Benzzy) there was a beat up station wagon that was strangely familiar. I leaned over to read the liscence plate number. There wasn't a liscence plate. The whole house seemed still, and I was afraid to go inside. I pushed open the door, and three people sat at the table, seriously talking. One of them was Mom. One of them was Miguelo. And one of them was my Dad. My first instinct was to rush over and hug him and tell him how much I had missed him, but I could tell from their stony faces to do so would be a death wish. "Hi, Kiddo," he said, smiling. My dad. I didn't reply. I couldn't reply. "Anastacia, you better sit down," said Miguelo. I obediently did so, wide eyed, pushing myself away from the table so I wasn't part of the circle of stony grown-ups. "Anastacia, you're father just drove in from New York," said my mother, more to Dad then to me. "That's right," said Dad, trying to be easygoing. I wished he wouldn't- it was so phony. "Got myself back up on my feet, Annie," he smiled. "Moved out of the Bronx, sold a few paintings. I'm painting sets on Broadway now, and I have a real nice house in Brooklyn, where Tina and I live with Meow." He smiled. "You'd love it, sport. Tina made the lawn up real nice, planted flowers, window boxes.really made our regular house a home." He grinned. No need to ask who Tina was. Dad had changed, a lot. He had grown a beard and hair, and with his round specs, he looked just like John Lennon, back from the dead. His plaid shirt and jeans made him look more like a trucker then a New Yorker. Needless to say, he was different in more ways then one. His manner, his smile- all totally new additions to Dad, probably brought on by Tina, in Western Living Home in Brooklyn. "Honey," said Miguelo gently. "I really think we should cut to the chase." My mom lowered her head, and Dad spoke. "Thank you, Jose, but I really don't even see why you're here, so, if you'd just but out I'd thank you," My dad grimaced at the little man, who scowled back. "Miguelo is my fiancée," said Mom steadily. Oh. Ever think of letting me in on this, Mom? Dad looked surprised, too. But he quickly recovered. "Helen, I thought you could do so much better!" He chuckled. I hadn't remembered my Dad as mean. But I hadn't remembered my mom as lying, either. Miguelo and Mom. What were they going to do, elope one day, and come back and say, "Oh, dear, we forgot to tell you but Miguelo's your Dad now?" What the hell! Apparently, I no longer had a say in my own life. " I'm sorry," My Dad said, who had now finished his fake chuckle. "That was always the problem with you, Dick!" said my mother. "His name is Dick?" asked Miguelo, grinning. Score for Senor! "It always was the problem with you. So selfish, all the time- always running off, lying to Anastacia! You forced me into all that crap! Well, she's not going, and you may as well put your little secret out in the open because nobody is going to tolerate your lies anymore!" My mom was screaming. Running off? Lying? Secrets? What was going on? Dad looked at me fiercely. "None of that is true!" he said, saying it half to reassure himself, I'm sure. But I couldn't take it. Whatever his little secrets were, he could have it. I got up to leave. "Wait, Annie," he grabbed my arm. "You don't need to live in chaos, Annie," he said gently. "Here's your mother, lying straight to your face. You can come and live with me, in New York. You were happy in New York, baby. And you'll love Tina, and Meow." His eyes were pleading. "Angel cake." I said. "What?" "I said angel cake. You don't remember, do you?" "Oh, Tina can make any kind of cake, sweetie-," "No, Dad. Snowflakes. Angel Cake. Remember?" My dad shrugged. "Well, hon, I don't speak gibberish. But you can come and live with me- not in a trailer, either. In a home. And no Hispaniolic Monkeys running around." Racist. "No, Dad." I said. "Annie, what are you doing?" "I said no, Daddy." "Why not?" "I don't want to." Dad dropped his hand. "I won't pressure you," he said. "I just wanted to see you. I got what I came for, I guess. I'm sorry again, Monkey man. You and Helen deserve each other-completely. I'm sorry I wasted your time," and he took his spectacles, and he was gone. Again.  
  
Chapter 10  
  
"Do you want some cocoa, sweetie?" my mother asked. "Do I look like I do?" "Yes." "Good. The deadly sick look might be good for me, seeing as I want to die." "He had proposed that morning, honey. I hadn't even said yes yet, I was planning to have a long discussion with you first." "Really." "Yes." "Men ruin everything." "Amen to that," my mother said, sipping her cocoa. I grabbed mine off the table. It was snowing; school was cancelled. "I know he made you sorry when he left like that, baby. It was just acting, just acting. Worked on me all the time," Today was the one day I had trusted everything my mother said. She had been there for me, and not likewise. It felt good. "Can you tell me what his secret was?" My mother sighed. "He pretended he was a teacher, before you were born. I found out, but we made up after the fight. He told me I should act certain ways around you, and I was-insecure. So I believed him. After you've been lied to, Annie, you just don't know what to think. I should have left him then, and taken you." "What about Jojo?" I ask, wanting her to tell me that was his fault to. "Well, that was me," she said quietly. "You're dad told me I should act defenseless or teenager-y around you, to make you at home. It scared you didn't it?" I nodded. "I'm sorry." It was silent. "He wrote a book about it, called it his new and improved way of raising your child. Didn't sell, just as well." That rhymes, I thought. "Well, I met Jojo when I was at a garage band, trying to act like a teenager again. I would have jumped off a bridge if you're father told me to. In the end I realized my only way out was to get out. So, I was rash. I married Jojo, who I thought I loved, and we ran away from there. I knew he would find us and try to take you. He'll do everything he can to take you." She grasped my hand. "You've been lied to for a long time, Annie. But don't fall apart and trust me," I expected her to turn into an evil water demon any second, but I nodded. "You're tough, kiddo," she said, grinning. How motherly.  
  
Forgiveness is a hard thing to do, and its even harder after you realize you've forgiven someone but then look back and review all the terrible things they did, and you want to be mad at them again. But you can't, because now, when you see their face, you know they love you and their sorry and they'd make it up to you, and its okay. The dance was four days away, and Economy was next. Jet and I were holding our breaths-business had been rocky for a while now. Gwyneth and Steve were at the front desk when we walked in. I only caught a few words. "Yes, sir, and we really don't feel that Jet is contributing much to the group, I mean, he's lazy, all he does is flirt with Anastacia, we're the only people working," I knew Jet heard it. He looked frozen. "So from what I understand, Jet Rhothe is being irresponsible," "And creepy," added Gwyneth. "Its inappropriate, the way he acts with that girl. They just need to become a couple and get it over with, though I wouldn't trust them with marriage at all. Who knows what might happen." Grrr. I walked up to the desk. "Hey, Gwyneth, Steve, Jet and I just finished the financial aide papers and filed a claim for the stockmarket. We expect a gig in April, from Disney, and we're really excited. Disney says they love us so much that even if just two of us went and the other two were lying, cheating snobs who just wanted a room together and had been really mean to who had once been their best friend in the entire world, and lied to everyone including their economy teacher, and who dropped out because of it, they'd still take us. Even if one of the snobs was his niece. Isn't that great?" I beamed. Gwyneth, Steve, and Mr. Edgharplume were shocked. Then, Jet started clapping. "Oh, Mr. Edgharplume, our group is going so poorly. I mean, Gwynn and Steve do all the work and all we do is smooch," Jet pulled me close to him, he smelled like tic-tacs, and you know what happened next. He pulled me into him, and my life made sense for about 3 and a half seconds. Then, a slow steady applause started from the back of the class. Then it got louder, and louder, until it was deafening. Even Mr. Edgharplume was slightly grinning. "Well, Gwyneh, Steve, I'll be needing proof of this unorganization you claim Jet has," said Mr. Edgharplume, as Jet stacked all 26 of our special paperwork in three neat piles on the desk. Gwyneth and Steve went back to their seats, maliscious at eachother, a broken couple.  
  
"Caroline?" I shouted throughout the library. "Shhhh!" said everyone else. I could see Caroline's green spiked hair behind the Biography's. She was wearing her shower curtain dress. "Where's Cary?" I asked. Startled, she looked up at me. "He went home sick," she said. "Why?" "Headache," she said. "Did he ask you to the dance?" "Yes," "Are you going?" Caroline looked back at her book. "Actually, I was debating about that-," "Why?" "You." "Me? Caroline, what?" "Well, you're my best friend. I don't really want to go without you there." There was silence. "Really?" "Yes," she said. "A double date, then?" "You and Jet," "Yeah." "Pick you up Friday then." "No- I'm driving Benzzy. Pick you up." "Great." "Great." And then we laughed and walked out of the library, hand in hand, the way best friends do at the end of sappy stories.***  
  
THE END 


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